Who Do You Love

[originally published 25.7.2008]

Who do you love?

Not God, who with perjury threatens,
And scrutinizes your sins 'neath a diamond-cutter's lens.
Certainly not God! That grumpy old man,
Doling stale pumpkin juice in a budweiser can,
And laughing as we chortle and gag...

Not mom, not dad, who, when their youth is done,
Look for wrinkles and white hairs on their daughter and son.
Condemn his friends, condemn her phone
And girlfriends, movies, and short skirts bemoan,
And their own orgies and tantrums forget,
And memories of youth in dungeons closet.

Not that girl you lov'd with her plumped up lips,
Batting her eyelashes over pizzas and chips,
Holding your hands in movie halls,
Kissing you on tiptoes when twilight falls,
Sighing and moaning in passion and pain,
Swearing eternal love by slicing her vein,
And penning 32-page letters to you, did she?

And then, one day, she packs and leaves,
All those movies and chips are done, she leaves,
And all those holding of hands, and letters, she says,
Are just silly things of our yesterdays,
Best to forget and our paths divide,
You be happy in your life, and I'll be in mine,
And then, Miss. Plumpy-Lips is gone.

(to be contd)

Words, You Say

[originally published on 16.7.2008]

'Some there be that shadows kiss;
Such have but a shadow's bliss:'
(Shakespeare, William. The Merchant of Venice, Act II, Scene IX)

When I read words that tell a tale
I'm not looking for truth
I'm not looking to see a sanity that for me would be the essence of you
I'm not looking to see a mirror to my griefs and sorrows
or maybe I am, but what of that?
I'm not looking to learn of your griefs and sorrows
or maybe I am, and that is that
I'm not looking for a saint, for stupid I'm not
A saint is the farthest thing from reality sought
I'm not looking a sinner to declare
I'm not looking neither to advocate nor condemn
I'm not looking for an epic fare
Of your love's labors lost, or your paradises won


I read of my volition and write of my thoughts
Like yours, they are my own begot
When words seek crutches in time and space
Then true feelings have but numbered days
For when the special hours and starlit skies are gone
Then the words breed lies, and in the dark, turn
Against those that we loved and of whom we wrote
Cruel, festering, cruel lies


And there are no explanations to give or ask
For, if you feel I'm asking for one
It's probably coz the words are already running out of space and time
Even while you write
And even while I read
And even while I think is it you or me that's kissing shadows...